


Chronicles of The Mad Alchemist

by Quinnoid



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bartender!Cel, Can be read as cel/Zolf but I'm not putting a lot of effort into actually developing that, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I think it's minor? it's not cel or zolf so., Mechanically Sad Zolf, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pirate!Zolf, Playing hard and fast with Pathfinder potions, and everything else honestly, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26443015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinnoid/pseuds/Quinnoid
Summary: What if Cel was a bartender in Hiroshima while Zolf was a pirate? What if they met each other, years before canon?This is the AU from the Food Crimes chapter, broken down and expanded significantly.
Relationships: Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom & Zolf Smith, Jasper & Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom
Comments: 14
Kudos: 11





	1. First Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cel (and therefore the story itself) refers to Zolf with neutral pronouns until they’re told otherwise because they do not assume things like that.

The Mad Alchemist is struggling. There’s no questioning it as Cel stares at the rent bill. A courier from Monsieur Plafond, the owner of the building The Mad Alchemist currently resides, delivered it while Cel slept in the upstairs apartment earlier in the day. They stare blankly at the bill, certain their eyes must be deceiving them. But they aren’t. It’s 75 silvers higher than last month's rent, and they know categorically that no amount of arguing with Monsieur Plafond’s assistants will grant them an extension or reprieve.

There’s no way they’ll make the money in time, even if everyone who comes in buys ten drinks an hour, and for the first time in a while, they can feel the distinct prickle of tears in the back of their throat.  _ Backed into a corner. Again. Out of options. Again. _ A snide, malicious voice in the back of their mind whispers. With a sharp shake of their head, Cel shoves the bill into a drawer and sets to work organizing the shelves full of various bottles and flasks of alcohol. 

It doesn’t take long, with only a few flasks of vodka in the wrong place, and a bottle of rum on the whiskey shelf. There’s nothing to do, nothing to prep, nothing to clean, and Cel finds themself sitting at a barstool, looking over their small bar. It’s homely, at least to them, with its low-top metal tables and cushioned barstools. The bar itself is a beautifully distressed metal that’s reminiscent of a lab table, a gift from Monsieur Plafond, ironically. Behind it, the neatly arranged shelves of liquor and mixes line a long stretch of wall. The top shelf, so high even they can barely reach, is full of various potions they’ve invented. 

Overall, the bar fits its name well, Cel thinks. They did design it to be just like their old lab, and while they hadn’t been going for the mad alchemist feel, the name sort of sprang to mind when it was finished. They already had so many memories here, so many favored clients and hilarious moments. They didn’t want to lose it so soon. There’s a knock on the door that makes Cel jump, and when they glance up, they realize it’s opening time. With a small sigh, they pull their lab coat tight and take a moment to find themself before opening the door. 

A group of goblins flash a series of sharp grins as they run inside, already chattering amongst themselves, and they return them with their own slightly feral, Mad Alchemist smile. The Mad Alchemist mask seamlessly slides into place, and the majority of the night passes in a blur of mixing drinks, chatting with customers, and the occasional flirting. The bill, still safely tucked into its drawer, is slowly forgotten, at least for a while.

It’s a few hours before closing when a sourfaced dwarf limps in, clearly already quite drunk. Their beard, a warm, sunny gold, is braided into an intricate plait, and they’re wearing sea-worn clothes. A trident is slung over their back, and a simple wood carved dolphin dangles from a thick cord around their neck. Cel instantly grins, and the dwarf stares up at them, eyes unfocused and clearly puzzled by something. 

“You a shark?” They slur, gesturing vaguely at Cel’s head.

Cel is slightly taken aback by the question, a childhood memory resurfacing. Their mask falters slightly, and they smile and laugh. “Oh, ah, no buddy. I’m a bit sharper than that. May-maybe a dolphin?”

The dwarf grunts and mumbles something mostly inaudible over the din of the bar. Awkwardly, they clamber up on a barstool, their pegleg nearly sliding off the slippery metal more than once, and repeat themself. “Somethin’ with rum. Please.”

“Oh! Gotcha!” Cel exclaims. They quickly finish making a complex cocktail for Craig, a tall orc who always comes in on his weekends off. With practiced ease, they get to work on a strong Blue Island with an extra dose of their hangover prevention potion. When it’s finished, they slide it in front of the dwarf. “Something to relax you, on the house!”

It’s bubbling violently, a side effect of their additional potion, and Cel has to repress a chuckle as the dwarf stares at it suspiciously before nodding. They turn away as the goblins begin shouting for another round of smokeshots. Flashing them a characteristic grin, Cel quickly drops bits of flaming smokestick into shot glasses and begins pouring the weakest whiskey they have on hand. As they finish, each shot begins to smoke ominously, one by one, and the goblins cheer raucously.

Cel turns, and just out of the corner of their eye, sees the dwarf finishing their cocktail with a hint of a satisfied smile. They raise an eyebrow questioningly and the dwarf nods sharply, then winces and grabs their head. Cel thinks for a moment before reaching up to grab a potion from the top shelf. Quickly, they mix together another Blue Island, adding just a dash of the new potion. They couldn’t quite remember how strong it was, as they hadn’t had a migraine in years. Maybe even decades. The dwarf watches them, a suspicious glare in their eyes.

“Don’t worry!” Cel has to yell over the chanting goblins. “I’m a mad alchemist, not an evil one.”

The dwarf raises their eyebrows and takes a cautious sip. After a moment, they sigh in relief as the potion does its job. “How?”

“Ah, I never reveal my secrets buddy. But there’s more where that came from! Just, just let me know what you want, you know?” Cel leans on the bar in front of them.

“Not buddy. Zolf.” The dwarf grumbles and pushes a few silvers across the bartop. “Mr. Zolf Smith, cleric and carpenter aboard  _ The Dragon’s Death _ .”

“Cel- Oh, it’s, it’s not that much! Just a few uh, a few coppers.” Cel pulls back, not quite willing to take that much money from a drunk stranger despite so desperately needing it.

“S’ a tip.” Mr. Smith grunts and shoves it into their hands. Cel sighs and grabs it before freezing. 

“Uh, th-this is, this is white gold?” Cel stammers out as quietly as possible. He looks at them, eyes even more unfocused than before. “M-Mr. Smith, I-I can’t, I can’t take this, I- you-”

“No. You make some o’ th’ best.. Best alcohol. Cured my head.. pain.” His words are slurring quite badly now, and Cel has to lunge forward and catch him before he falls over. “Give everyone a round o’ yer.. Yer bes’ creation.. yeah.”

Mr. Smith trails off, and Cel realizes with a start that he has fallen asleep, quite soundly by the amount of snores. With a long sigh, they carefully prop him up in his chair, and, after debating with themself for a moment, pocket the white gold with minimal guilt. 

“Oi!” A goblin calls from the other end of the bar. “Alchemist! Can we get one last round?” 

At the name, Cel whirls around. “Of course! Smokeshots?” The goblin glances at their friends, who all nod excitedly. “Good choice.”

With the final round of smokeshots consumed and the goblins heading home to sleep off the remainder of the night, and the rest of Cel’s customers slowly filtering out, they finally get the chance to check on Mr. Smith. He’s still faceplanted onto the bartop, snoring loudly. 

“Need me to take him?” Craig asks softly. Cel bites their lip, mulling his offer over before shaking their head. 

“I got Mr. Smith. Thank you though Craig! Get some, ah, some sleep and I’ll, I’ll see you next weekend?” 

Craig nods and sets a few extra coppers on the bar. “Been nice talking with you, Cel. Looking forward to it.”

Craig is the last person to leave, and Cel locks the door behind him. Almost numbly, they begin to clean up, collecting glasses for the wash and wiping down counters and tabletops. The reality that, if Mr. Smith didn’t wake up and demand his money back, all their expenses for the next two years, minimum are paid in advance is slowly setting in. That annoyingly familiar prickle settles in the back of their throat, and they collapse onto a barstool next to him. 

“It’s going to be okay.” They whisper shakily. “It will be okay.”

Cel wakes up late the next morning, still sitting at the bar. Tucked under their arm is a short note and five more white gold.

_ Hope I wasn’t much trouble. If this don’t cover it, I’ll be back in two weeks with more. ~ Z.S. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up soon! I did WAY more worldbuilding and planning for this than I expected? So. Provided I can stick with it, there's quite a lot to come (and also my absolute favorite character I have ever created)


	2. A Clerical Error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zolf tells Cel of his most recent travels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for minor(?) character death and canon typical violence.

Taking eight white gold to the local al Tahan bank was nearly heart attack inducing, but Cel survives and now they own a bank account, the building they were renting, and a lot of new supplies for both The Mad Alchemist and for actual alchemy. They are also able to hire another mixologist, an eager gnome named Jasper who wants to apprentice in alchemy on the side. For the first time in months, they can breathe easily, without the threat of eviction or randomly increasing rent. For the first time in months, they start working on making new drinks.

Three weeks later, there’s a sharp rap on the door. Both Cel and Jasper jump and glance up from their smokesticks to see a short figure hovering outside. Cel grabs a mutagen potion and walks over. They peer through the crack and grin widely at the sight of the person on the other side.

“Jasper! Jasper, come here!” They exclaim and hurriedly unlock the door. “Mr. Smith! Welcome ba- are, are you okay?”

“Fine.” He grunts, though he clearly isn’t. His chainmail is splattered with blood and his grey pants are nearly stained black. His beard isn’t braided either, just bound together with a thick cord. “Can I come in?” 

“Of.. of course, Mr. Smith.” Cel steps aside and he limps inside, brushing past Jasper. 

“Do I owe you anything else uh..?”

“Celiquillithon Sidebottom, but my friends call me Cel. They/them please. And, why would you owe me..?” Cel cocks their head, frowning down at him. 

“Celiquillithon. Cel..” Zolf tests the name for a moment, much to their amusement. Their name sounds nice coming from him, like it had so long ago. “I paid you for, uh, for lettin’ me crash a few weeks back. And for drinks. Don’t quite remember how much I drank, but I woke up feelin’ something awful so it musta been a lot.”

“You.. Mr. Smith you gave me eight white gold.” He turns and stares at them, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah? And? Do I owe ya more or not?”

“I.. No, Mr. Smith, of course not. In fact, you, you don’t ever need to pay me. For, for anything. B-because of you, I own this place now, and, and..” They trail off, and take a quiet breath. “Thank you Mr. Smith. Because of you, I get to stay.”

Mr. Smith grunts and begins to unsteadily climb into a barstool. “S’ it too early for a drink?”

“Ah, heh, no. Would.. I came up with something if, if you’d like to try it?” Cel bites their lip as they take a closer look at him. Aside from the concerning bloodstains, he has a long, poorly stitched gash down his right forearm and a deep purple bruise forming over his left eye. His pegleg has deep gouges as well, as if someone tried to hack at it with a sword. Mr. Smith shrugs. “Mr. Smith, would you.. I-I mean, w-well, I..”

“Spit it out.” He sighs.

“Are you in trouble, Mr. Smith?” Cel asks as they finish up the new drink, a spin on an old classic they named the Salty Sea Dwarf. 

“None of that. ‘S just Zolf.” The salty sea dwarf in question rumbles. “Guess it’s captain now too.”

“Oh?” They lean onto the bar, shooting Jasper a quick look. He’s already quite enraptured by Mr. Smi- by Zolf, and is hardly paying attention to the smokestick. When he meets Cel’s eyes though, he quickly goes back to paying attention to his task. 

Zolf stares down at his drink, looking like he’s making the hardest decision of his life. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he takes a long sip and looks at Cel. “Right, so, uh, my ship got waylaid in London for a few days, and we were on our way back to Hiroshima when we were attacked. Things went south, right quick.”

~~***~~

The  _ Mermaid’s Scorn  _ was steadily gaining on  _ The Dragon’s Death _ , much to everyone's concern. Even Poe, creepy elf that he was, was hanging around on the upper deck, chanting quietly under his breath and brandishing a solid looking axe. Captain Earhart stalked back and forth on the deck, gun drawn and ready. Sasha was hanging around as well, barely coming out of the shadows, the only thing giving away her position being the glint of moonlight off her daggers. 

Zolf, being both crippled and the only cleric onboard, had been told by the Captain to sit the fight out as long as possible. His leg would only slow him down, and they couldn’t afford to lose him. Sasha was to prove her worth guarding him or be dropped off at the next port, per the Captain. Zolf wanted to bite her head off for that, but he understood. Dead weight was a dangerous thing to carry around on a pirate ship.

“Sasha.” Zolf said as loudly as he dared. The night was calm and there was no breeze to stir the ocean or flap the sails, and sound carries dangerously across open waters. She materialized in front of him, two daggers gripped tightly in her hands. “Don’t.. Don’t risk your life for me.”

Sasha scowled at him, a sour, petulant look he’d hardly ever seen on anyone beside himself. Despite the situation, he chuckled quietly. “Can’t lose this mate. I don’t.. I can’t go back. If I die here, least I die away from him.”

“Sasha..” Zolf trailed off as she disappeared again, and this time, her daggers didn’t glint in the moonlight. There was a loud crack, and Zolf winced as the bullet flew, signalling the start of battle. The enemy ship had managed to pull in close in an attempt to board  _ The Dragon’s Death _ , but Grizzop, from his vantage point in the rigging, began firing arrow after arrow at the crew of the  _ Mermaid’s Scorn _ . 

“Begone evildoers!” Edward yelled as he held his morningstar aloft. Zolf had to chuckle again at him as the enemy crew began to board  _ The Dragon’s Death _ . Zolf didn’t recognize them, but then again, he hadn’t been a pirate for long. The first few were easily cut down by Ed, but then another beast of a fighter knocked his morningstar out of his hand. Friedrich and Siggif quickly backed him up, while Poe hovered in the shadows waiting for the next person to board. 

Except no one did. Instead, a series of echoing explosions rang out over the water, deafening everyone. Zolf stumbled back, nearly falling to the ground. Sasha, who had apparently started sneaking towards the fight, crumpled to her knees only a few feet away. Zolf caught himself and lurched forward. She had dropped her knives and clapped her hands over her ears, which were bleeding profusely. Zolf tried to say something, and realized with a start that he couldn’t hear himself. He couldn’t hear anything, just the sharp, painful burst of ringing, like Wilde’s damn whistle was inside his ear.

He grabbed the driftwood dolphin around his neck, hopefully muttered a prayer out loud, and channeled healing energy into her. The blood from her ears lessened and stopped, and Zolf breathed a sigh of relief when she looked up at him, despite the look of terror in her eyes. She tried to say something, but he couldn’t hear her, couldn’t read her lips because she was trying to talk so fast. Gesturing to his ears, he realized he was also bleeding quite heavily. 

“It’s okay.” He mouthed as slowly as possible. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Sasha frowned, then moved so quickly he was barely able to follow her. In a few seconds, two daggers were buried in the neck of the hulking giant who’d attacked Ed. A moment later, a flaming arrow joined them, and Sasha whirled around to stare up at Grizzop with a sour glare. She shouted something, but Zolf’s attention was pulled away again. In the middle of the deck, the Captain’s hat lay haphazardly, feather blown to bits by whatever had caused the explosions. 

Zolf jumped to his feet, albeit shakily, and ran to it. A few feet away, lying completely motionless, was the Captain. And standing over her, sword in hand, was a tall, cloaked figure. Zolf felt his breath catch in his throat as he lunged forward with his trident. They dodged him, somehow, and managed to catch his arm with their sword. Zolf was pretty sure he screamed, but it was hard to tell. For a moment, the world went black, and when he opened his eyes again, the figure was gone.

Earhart was gone too. Zolf didn’t have to be a cleric to know that, but he still tried to bring her back. He spent hours pleading with Poseidon, begging, praying, anything to get his god’s attention to no avail. The Captain was dead, the crew was in shambles, and Zolf had never felt more alone.

  
  


~~***~~

“We buried her, got the ship back in order, and they voted for me to be captain. So. Now I’m captain.” Zolf mutters into his glass. 

“I’m sorry Zolf.” They murmur. “I.. I know how you feel. Losing someone who, who you looked up to and.. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” He finishes the glass and looks up at them. “That was good. The drink, that is.”

“Oh, ah thank you Mr. Sm- ah Zolf.” Cel sighs. “Can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“Is there anything I can do? To help or to, to be there for you?”

Zolf stares at them for a long moment. “Why do you care?”

“I’m going to be honest Mr. Smith, I owe you? Quite a lot in fact. And you are hurt, both, both physically and mentally, so if there’s anything that I can do, I would like to do it.”

“You don’t owe me anythin’ Cel.” Zolf snaps. “I paid you what you’re owed for putting up with.. Look, I’m sorry. Just. I don’t want you feeling like you owe me. ‘Cause you don’t.”

“Alright.” Cel bites their lip. “I still care, because you’re hurt, and I’d prefer to see you not hurt. And if I can do something about that, I’d like to.”

Zolf laughs, a short bitter thing, and sighs. “I just want to forget. For one night.”

Cel glances up at their shelf, where they know an Elixir of Amnesia sits, unopened. When they look back at Zolf, he’s silently staring down at the bartop. “I can get you drunk. I think it’s up to you to forget.”

“Fine with me.” Zolf mutters.

“Would you like to maybe stay the night then? I have a guest room, if you want. You don’t have to, of course!”

Zolf looks conflicted for a moment, then smiles slightly. “That’d, uh, that’d be nice. Thanks.”

Cel smiles back, pours Zolf a drink, and soon the night devolves into a pleasant blur. They're pretty certain he forgets.


	3. Dangers of Alchemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cel gets a turn to tell a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for vague descriptions of injury and healing, including burns.

Cel doesn’t see Zolf again for a month. They spend their days training Jasper at their new lab, who is a pleasantly quick learner, and inventing. They spend their nights working the bar with Jasper and sketching out half-hearted plans. It’s nice, having the freedom to just do what they want again, to just invent and create and occasionally explode. It’s also quite lonely, and their thoughts get loud.

Taking a slow breath, Cel grabs a pen and begins to write down the ingredients and steps to creating a proper mutagen potion. While they write, their mind begins to wander back to the day Zolf had stayed in the apartment. They woke up early that afternoon to find him in the kitchen preparing a very late breakfast. It was delicious and terrifyingly domestic, and despite still being a bit grumpy, Zolf had shyly asked if they knew how to braid before letting them help re-braid his beard. 

There’s a soft knock on the door, interrupting the memory. “Yes?”

“M-mr. Smith’s here.” Jasper calls. 

“Oh!” Cel jumps up from their desk. “Just a minute!”

They quickly pull on their lab coat and head downstairs. Jasper and Zolf are sitting at the bar, talking quietly. Cel pauses for a moment, takes a steadying breath, and steps through the door.

“Good afternoon, Zolf!” They smile. 

“Afternoon.” He sighs. “How’re you?”

Cel freezes halfway behind the bar for a second. “I, uhm. I’m good? How are you?”

“Fine. And you Jasper?”

“Oh! I’m good. Great actually!” Jasper beams. “Cel taught me how to make alchemist’s fire!”

“Huh.” Zolf grunts. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah!” Jasper exclaims. “Actually I have it here if you want to see!”

“No! No, Jasper,  _ no _ . The rule was the alchemist’s fire stays  _ out _ side the bar and my home?” Cel yelps. “Please go put it back in the lab!”

Blushing brightly, Jasper runs out the door, stammering apologies. Cel sighs. 

“I love Jasper, I really do, but I don’t think he gets how dangerous this stuff is.” They slide into the seat next to Zolf with a huff. “You know? It’s incredibly unstable. It’s a wonder he hasn’t blown anything up already.”

“Hm.” Zolf shifts on the barstool and gives them an appraising look. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Cel blinks, one hand drifting up to their ear of its own accord. “Ah, yes. I’m alright Mr. Smith. Would you like something to drink? I’ve got something new for you to try.”

“Sure.” He nods, but doesn’t stop looking at them with that careful expression as they get up to prepare the cocktail. They’re grateful he doesn’t push it though. They’ve been in a weird mood, and it’s not something they want to talk about. “Hey Cel? Where are you from?”

“Oh!” Cel looks up from the drink with a half smile. “North America. Why?”

“Just curious. What’s it like?”

Cel stops what they’re doing and looks down at their hands.  _ Destroyed.  _ They shake their head lightly. “Beautiful. I haven’t seen a place as.. As alive as the mountain range I grew up in. The woods were home to some of the most amazing animals and magical creatures..” They trail off.

“Yeah?” Zolf looks genuinely interested, his eyes soft in a way Cel has only seen once before. 

“Yeah!” Cel grins. “I met a stag-moose. They’re like these massive deer.. You know what a deer is right?” Zolf nods. “Oh good! Well, they’re huge, bigger than a draft horse, and they have giant, branching antlers. I’d always been told they were dangerous creatures, prone to stampeding towns and impaling people.”

~~***~~

_ Roughly eighty years ago _

They brushed a dark strand of hair from their eyes and shuffled to get more comfortable. They were nestled in a tree, about ten feet off the ground, glaring down at a clearing through blurry tears. Frustration and anger and hurt ran through them like lightning in their veins, crackling and burning. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right, and-

Branches cracked and rustled, interrupting their train of thought. Instantly, they went still and silent, a spark of fear lancing down their spine. The woods were dangerous. Aside from the ambient wild magic that occasionally drifted through, the megafauna tended to be aggressive and easily set off. The herds of herbivores were especially bad, occasionally trampling through the town stealing food, destroying houses, and being generally destructive. 

Another branch snapped, closer this time, and something grunted and snuffled. They wiped their tears away and held their breath as a giant, black stag-moose slowly walked into the clearing. The bull sniffed at the air and looked around with intelligent, amber eyes that flashed in the low light. His antlers, tall, branching, curling things that were partially covered in velvety, grey fur, towered a couple of feet over him. One of the bare points was curled just so, and digging sharply into his cheek, just below his eye, slicing through. They gasped, and the giant head swung toward them, ears pricked up. He grunted again, and after a moment, dropped his head down to sniff the wet earth. 

“Hey buddy,” They whispered. The bull’s head snapped up again, and he watched with wide eyes as they climbed down carefully. Slowly, they reached into their pocket, pulling out a freshly brewed healing potion. The bull didn’t move. He waited as they slowly walked closer, until they were nearly within arms reach of his massive muzzle. They reached their hand out, and he sniffed at their hand. He was huge, standing about a foot taller than them, and smelled of mud and rain and broken leaves.

“Will you let me help you?” They asked quietly. The bull grunted, as if in answer, and lowered his head. “Yeah?”

They uncorked the vial, poured a little into their hand, and held it back out for him. Tentatively, he nosed their hand and licked the sweet potion from their palm. They giggled at the gentle giant, and he jumped back with a snort.

“Oh, sorry!” They whispered. The bull snorted again. Slowly, they pulled a handful of sweet oats from another pocket and mixed the potion into it, making a strange sort of oatmeal. “Here you go buddy. This’ll help.”

He stepped forward again, snuffling. As he ate, the point of his antler was pushed aside by healing skin. They watched, transfixed, as the skin knit itself back together. When the bull finished eating, he looked at them with those bright, amber eyes. He leaned down and sniffed at their hair. Cautiously, they reached one hand up to his muzzle, bringing it to rest gently between two massive nostrils. He huffed, tickling their arm with a hot burst of air, and stepped back. 

~~***~~

“And then he walked away.” Cel murmurs. They smile slightly. “I never met him again, not really. But about the same time every year for a few years, a black bull stag-moose would come out of the woods and walk to the edge of the town. He never quite looked the same, but I think it was him. He always had those bright eyes.” Cel’s face twists into a dark glower. “The townspeople always drove him away though.”

“Wow.” Zolf says quietly. “He sounds beautiful.”

“He was. I wish.. Well, I’m glad I got to meet him.” Cel pushes the drink forward. “Here.”

Zolf smiles at them and takes a slow sip. For a moment, he’s silent. “That’s really good. Whiskey?”

“Yep! Whiskey and scotch. I don’t have a name for it yet.”

“Rusty Quill.”

Cel raises an eyebrow. “Rusty Quill?”

“Yeah. Call it the Rusty Quill.”

“Oh.” Cel chews on their lip, thinking. “Alright. Rusty Quill then. Ooh, maybe I should serve it with a fake quill stirrer? Or would that be too offputting, because wet feathers..”

They trail off, and Zolf chuckles. It’s deep and surprising, and Cel looks at him, both eyebrows arched.

“Sorry.” Zolf smiles. They don’t think he’s really sorry. 

“What about you? Where are you from?” His expression instantly sours, and they backpedal frantically. “Oh! Sorry, nevermind, forget I asked, it’s-”

“Herefordshire.” He mutters. “England.”

“Oh.” Cel pauses, not sure what to say. Suddenly, the door bursts open and Jasper dashes inside. 

“Cel! Cel! Oh, I’m sorry Cel, it- there- I-” Jasper stammers in between gasping breaths. 

“What?” They ask, coming around the bar and squatting down in front of him.

“It- I-I’m sorry!” 

“Jasper!” Cel grabs his hands, but immediately lets go when he cries out and jerks back. His hands and forearms are burnt and bloody. “Okay. Okay, lil buddy, it’s okay. Zolf? I need you to go upstairs and get me a healing potion. There should be a few sitting on the kitchen counter. They’re purple. Jasper? Jasper, look at me.”

Zolf looks like he wants to say something, but then nods and limps upstairs as fast as he can. Jasper sniffles, still trying to catch his breath. “I accidentally dropped the alchemist’s f-fire. I’m really sorry! I put it out, but it- it-”

“Jasper.” Cel cuts him off softly. “Stop. It’s alright. Where did you drop it?” 

“Just outside the lab. Nothing really caught f-fire, I put it out, but-”

“Alright, alright. You’re alright.” Cel says. Zolf comes back with two vials of purple liquid, and they take them with a short nod. Quickly uncorking one, they help Jasper drink it, and he sighs. “There you go. It’s okay Jasper.”

“I’m sorry Cel!”

“It’s okay.” Cel shushes him and examines his hands gently. After a moment, they hand him the second potion and stand up. “Drink that and let’s go have a look at it, yeah?”

Jasper nods frantically, already running for the door. Cel swears quietly as he runs off and turns to Zolf. “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith. You can stay if you want, of course! I’ll be back.. Soon.”

“You mind if I come with?”

“Oh! Ah of course not! Yep that’s.. That’s fine.” Cel closes their eyes and takes a deep breath. “Okay. I just.. need my keys and then we can go.”

After grabbing their keys and locking The Mad Alchemist, the three of them make their way down various side streets, winding their way to the old warehouse Cel repurposed into a lab. For most of the walk, Jasper rambles about the fire and what he did to put it out. When they get to the warehouse, Jasper winces and ducks behind Cel. Just outside the door, a black scorch mark and shattered glass mark where the vial of alchemist’s fire had fallen. The door itself was blown open in the blast, but nothing else looks burnt or broken.  _ You should have gone with him. _

“Alright Jasper. Let this be a lesson as to why alchemist’s fire stays at the lab, okay?” Cel says, bending down to give him a hug. He nods into their shoulder, and they hear a little sniffle. “I don’t want you getting hurt again, alright?”

“It’s not so bad.” Zolf says. “Door looks fine, it just blew open. Should be an easy fix.”

“Thank you Mr. Smith.” Jasper murmurs. Cel lets go of him and stands up, inspecting the door themself. Carefully, they grab the handle, and pull it shut. The door groans angrily, but closes, and they lock it back. 

“Right! It’s almost time to open the bar.” They say. “Jasper? I think you should take tonight off. Get some sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow okay? We can go over the instructions for alchemist’s fire tomorrow.”

“Oh but-”

“Nope! You got hurt, and while the healing potions have helped, your hands won’t feel good if you use them all night.” Cel kneels down again and holds out their arms for a hug. Jasper accepts it eagerly. “I’m sorry you got hurt buddy. I’ll make it up to you alright? And you’ll still get paid for tonight, don’t worry.”

Jasper sighs. “Alright. Thank you Cel! I’m really sorry!”

“It’s alright. Go home now, alright?” Jasper scurries off and Cel stands up with a sigh. “Right, Zolf? Are you coming back with me?”

Zolf looks up from the door and frowns. “Yeah. If that’s alright.”

Cel smiles, and they feel just a hint of the Mad Alchemist grin. “Perfect. I’ve had an  _ interesting _ idea for a new drink.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

Cel and Zolf start walking back to the bar. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies (sort of) for the awful pun (Rusty Nail/Rusty Quill). I'm quite proud of it lmao.


End file.
